The Notebook
by gschelt
Summary: An anonymous letter Alex finds in a notebook, the reply, and the correspondence that follows. You're not allowed to know who the other character is yet, but go ahead and try to guess anyway. It's femslash. Don't scoff at my lame title.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** I have no idea how long this whole thing will end up being. Having no plan is fun. :) Leave me some reviews, let me know what you think.  
I own nothing._

* * *

_Alex, _

So I really just wanted to tell you that there's this way that you walk that's kind of… devil may care. Shoulders back, moving with purpose like _fuck the world_. It's hard not to notice, though maybe… I'm probably the only one who cares enough to stop and look at things like that. You see, I kind of keep to myself. I don't mean that like I sit in the corner all day staring at people; I _have_ friends, I just don't find it necessary to talk all the time like lots of airheads do… Huge difference from right now, I guess. Whatever.

Anyway, I was saying how I like your attitude. It's all I know about you, since I've never spoken to you, but for now it's enough. Four times a day I pass you through hallway traffic; though where that is, I'll refrain from saying. Once a day I share lunch hour with you, and I guess that's your hint. We have the same lunch hour. Good luck figuring that one out, though, if you care to bother. You're free to read this and throw it away, I don't mind. I still haven't decided if I'm going to be leaving it for you to find.

But I was talking about passing you four times a day. That's when you're walking, which I like, and though looking while you sit at your lunch table and eat is all fine and good, it's the walking I prefer. Creepy, right? I'm not a stalker or anything, don't worry. I've never followed you home, never dived after any of your garbage to add to a shrine in my closet. I don't know much of anything about you, and I don't presume to. I just like the way you walk… full of attitude and not a care in the world. Like I said, devil may care. You know? It's kind of sexy.

Shit, am I really writing this?

If I wanted to get _really_ weird, I'd tell you how I like your mouth almost as much as your walk. Yeah, I warned you. But since this is anonymous and all, I might as well go the whole nine yards. I really do like your mouth a lot. You have nice lips. And I'm trying really hard not to sound like a complete and utter creep, but when you send unsigned love letters it's kind of hard not to. You're wondering, why doesn't this loser just come up to me and say hi? I'm not trying to be the Phantom of the Opera and woo you or anything. Sick. That's not my style. I'm just letting you know you look really fucking cool. Sometimes you've got to hear that every once in a while, even if it's like this.

Who am I kidding? Maybe I do have a thing for you. Yeah, I think you walk down these halls like some kind of badass supermodel. And I think you've got an amazing pair of lips. The rest isn't half bad, either. What exactly does that say about me? Me and my anonymous letter _which_, I've decided by now, you will never read… I'm kind of a loser, aren't I? Might as well just keep going and let it all out, since this is going to stay safe in my notebook forever. You're really fucking hot. Gorgeous. And I really want to do things to you. What's holding me back? Insecurity about you being out of my league, crippling shyness, etc? Not really. I think most of it is just that I like looking at you and daydreaming about you. Yeah, I do that. I like checking you out from far away and thinking about getting in your pants, and other cliché stuff like that. That careless, uncommitted way you might fantasize about a celebrity crush or something.

Wow, boredom must _really_ be getting to me. I've got to stop writing before I really get into this. Sick time-waster, isn't it? Anyway, thanks for being a great distraction during class. It really made my fourth hour more endurable; not telling you what class it is, though, because even though you will never read this since I'm burning it as soon as I leave school, I've got to keep up this whole anonymity thing I've had going throughout this whole letter. It's kind of fun.

Yeah, I think I'm done now. Have a good one.

Cordially, Sincerely, etc,

_ Anonymous_


	2. Chapter 2

_Anonymous,_

Nothing beats the surprise of coming in Simpson's room after lunch and finding a notebook completely empty except for a love letter. A love letter with _my_ name on it. Doesn't that just beat all? Someone up there must have a sense of humor, since I'm the one who found this little treasure. The mother lode of all coincidences. I'm sure you're going to be mortified (I might guess who you are when the ambulance comes after your heart attack), but seriously, this whole thing is cracking me up right now. I don't mean to sound condescending or anything; I'm not laughing _at_ you, I swear. The whole thing is just really fucking funny.

Now, I'll bet you came back as soon as you realized your notebook was missing and looked for it. I'm sorry to have put you through that, not being able to find it, but I couldn't just leave it there for next hour's asswipe to read, could I? No, I couldn't. And not knowing who you _are_, I couldn't find you and return it. So I'm actually going to do something a little crazy and write back. Then, I'm going to come back right before fourth hour and put it back under that desk for you. I'll have already done it by the time you're reading this. God, snail mail makes time such a bitch to understand…

Anyway, in case I didn't say it already, I'm amused. You'd think any self-respecting girl like myself would be totally creeped out by the whole anonymous love letter thing, wouldn't you? But no, I thought it was kind of… I don't want to say cute, because that is _definitely_ not the right word. Interesting, original, maybe. Also, I like the fact that you don't beat around the bush, even though that letter was pretty much just journaling for you. So you check me out, big deal? At least you're not building me a shrine or pulling some Phantom of the Opera stunt, which you nixed from the get-go. No, I like your style. I also like the fact that you're klutz enough to leave your notebook lying around, though you're probably not liking that so much right now.

I should start guessing who you are, and I'm sorely tempted to, but I think I'll take a raincheck on that for now. You're a girl, that much I know from the handwriting, so that narrows down about half of Degrassi. You're in one of Simpson's classes, which doesn't narrow it down at all since most everyone is. But fourth hour… I could definitely do some digging and figure out not only a grade, but a group of about a dozen girls to choose from. You know what? I'm not gonna do that. I'm gonna leave this notebook for you to read and probably sweat over tomorrow, then wait for a reply after lunch. Why? Because I think being pen-pals with a mystery admirer sounds about as cool as it fucking gets in high school. I could use a distraction like this.

And who knows? Maybe you'll end up being just as cool as I have a feeling you are. (My walk? Really? Who the hell picks up on that kind of thing? I'm impressed by your originality.) Maybe you'll end up revealing yourself and we'll find that we get along pretty great. But until then…

Later,

_Alex_

P.S. Keep the compliments coming, they really brighten my day.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:** If Alex isn't privy to the knowledge of Anonymous's identity, why should you be? Yes, that's my central plot device (plot? what plot?). You'll find out who she is at the VERY end. I want to keep you guessing, that's the point of the whole story. And don't worry, Anonymous isn't going to end up being some OC. I wouldn't be that cruel. Review away. ;)_

* * *

_Alex,_

Can I just say something first?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fucking fuck.

Fuck anonymity, I don't care that you don't know who I am. I'm really fucking embarrassed. Sure, you could have been totally icked and showed all your friends (actually, you never said you didn't), and that would have made it worse. Sure, you were more than cool about the whole thing and I really have no reason to be freaking out, but I am. I just thought Simpson called on me, but he didn't. Good. Anyway, it's kind of a given that I'm sweating this. No matter what. I LOST MY NOTEBOOK AND YOU FOUND IT. How can I not be freaked?

But I'll get over it, eventually. It's really not the end of the world. It's the twisted coincidence of the whole thing that just throws me for a loop. A really huge loop. Like, The Eviscerator at the Toronto Summer Carnival, loop. (And, just fyi, I nearly puked on that thing). Still, no biggie. See, this is me calming down.

That being said, you're a pretty cool person. I still don't know anything about you besides the fact that your body language and your writing both give off the vibe of having a really stellar attitude (and that definitely counts for something). But if you can laugh at my letter (and hey, that's totally okay with me), _and_ write me back, that just shows me how chill you are. This is the part where I'd better quit sounding like I'm fawning all over you, though. It's unbecoming, and totally not what I'm all about.

Oh, I almost forgot; you figured out I'm a girl. I guess I should be worried, but I still haven't figured out what I should be worried about. I mean, you're unfazed by it. And I don't have to worry about my reputation over this. Okay, one other hint? I'm not the type of girl who obsesses over reputation and social hierarchy. Anyway, the whole girl-liking-girl thing is so not a big deal. Apparently. Luckily. Another hint: I'm not in Degrassi's GSA or anything, so don't go around looking for some out'n'proud type. Yeah, I guess I'm one of those pretentious self-proclaimed "label free" folk. Do I dare be so optimistic as to hope that you are too?

But no, this is not about trying to date you or anything half so ridiculous. Watch, next I'll be asking if you're single. Then I'll be asking what your type is. Then I'll coyly slip in some advantageous information about myself that will make me look good. Then… shit, I haven't thought that far in my Use Creepy Anonymous Letters to Woo Alex Nunez plan.

You, my friend, look like a woman who can appreciate sarcasm. I hope you appreciated it just now. Otherwise I'll have come across really strangely, and that's not good.

So I take it you want to do this thing regularly? Why, I'm honored. I'd love to be your pen-pal. All I need to do first is forget about the fact that it all started with a ridiculously humiliating love letter (really, we need to quit calling it that. It's not a love letter, it's an admiration letter. Sure, let's go with that). No sarcasm intended. When I can get over my embarrassment this could work pretty well. I'll be leaving this in the basket under this desk when the bell rings.

Until next time,

_ Anonymous_

P.S. Was that enough flattery for you?


	4. Chapter 4

_Anonymous, _

Let me just say that though I don't know who you are, I have a lot of respect for you right now. The whole secret-identity thing should be knocking it down a couple of notches, but really now. You're talking about how cool _my_ attitude is? Just look at yourself. Not only did you write back, but you did so with some dignity. You got over the whole embarrassment thing with a good amount of grace, and you throw in a healthy dose of self-depreciating humor to boot. That's impressive. No, I've figured out by now that you're not some weird stalkerish chick. You're pretty cool, and pretty brave although you haven't taken the most _obvious_ brave step and come forward. Maybe after some time you will, and maybe you won't. Hey, sometimes that's how the cookie crumbles.

Anyway, I did figure out you're a girl. Sorry. I'm sorry I connected so many dots right away, should I slow down? Now that I know you're a girl it's only a matter of time before I sleuth out your true identity. Maybe I should forget I ever figured that out. After all, you could be a guy with really delicate handwriting. And, admitting to being female would of course throw me off the scent. _Very_ clever, I'm impressed… _Mr. Simpson!_

But no, I'm not thrown by the fact that you're a girl. Maybe I like it better. Your letters are fun to read, interesting, well-thought-out… Could a guy do that? I don't think so. Maybe that's my inner feminist talking, but whatever. And I'm also more flattered by your _admiration letter_ (yeah, that works) since you are female. Any guy can check me out, but to catch the eye of one of those elusive label-free folk? I'm not pulling your leg here when I tell you that means something to me.

Back to how I have a shitload of respect for you: You're okay with talking about checking me out like it's no biggie. That's huge. That lets me know you're not some drama queen or some Mary Sue who has to make everything like this into a huge ordeal. _Thank_ you. And the whole label-free thing; that's cool with me. You don't find enough people who aren't in such a huge rush to tell the world what they are and what they aren't, you know? Sometimes it's good to just _exist_, and let the people who care enough get close enough to figure you out.

So yeah, maybe I'm the same way.

While I'm at it, I like that you don't give a shit about your reputation. That means you're not some moron prep type; and since you can admit it, it also means you're not insecure enough about your reputation to be one of those sad lonely girls who Myspaces all afternoon. So I've found some middle ground for you, and that's fab. OH NO, I'M USING THIS INFORMATION TO CROSS MORE NAMES OFF MY CHART AND NARROW IT DOWN. Don't worry. I'm actually just forming a picture in my mind of what you're like.

But you've got to help me out here; if you don't tell me _anything_ about yourself, how am I gonna stay interested? This pen-pal thing can't be all back-and-forth compliments, can it? What are your favorite bands? Hobbies? Who's your favorite teacher, least favorite cheerleader? (Just a guess here, but I'm gonna say that you're not the Spirit Squad type. I'm gonna guess that you're cool enough to enjoy a good prep-bashing every once in a while.)

Anyway.

Until tomorrow,

_Alex_

P.S. The "Use Creepy Anonymous Letters to Woo Alex Nunez" plan? Oh gosh, I should have known!

P.P.S. I do in fact appreciate good sarcasm. Ten bonus points to you.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note:** Is Anonymous's identity totally obvious? Sorry. Ugh. I meant to do a better job of keeping it a mystery. Though, KT, maybe I too readily mistook the second half of your review for sarcasm... Please tell me **someone **is still guessing? :P  
Reviews plzkthnx.  
_

_

* * *

  
_

_Alex, _

How do you expect me to proceed to phase three of the Use Creepy Anonymous Letters to Woo Alex Nunez plan if my letter _isn't_ nothing but nonstop flattery? If I start telling you about myself, won't you just get bored? My mother always told me that the best way to reel them in is to make it all about the other person and wear low cut tops. That's the angle I'm working right now (even though one half of the strategy is lost on you…). No, I don't think I'll get into details about me. You're only trying to be polite by asking, I'm sure your dad told you the best way to lure in women is to listen and pretend you're interested.

Or maybe, I'm just putting it off because I'm worried you might use my favorite bands against me, to figure out who I am. Scour the members of the Degrassi network on Facebook for those with similar interests… you're a wiley one, don't think I'm not on to you!

(I used those ten bonus points you awarded me to upgrade my sarcasm arsenal to _two whole paragraphs._)

Anywho, last night I was listening to the soundtrack for the movie Once. I don't know if you've seen it, but it's about a struggling street musician in Dublin who meets an Eastern European chick with an accent, then they get together and make beautiful music (but they don't make beautiful music in the sheets, she's married and in this film that actually means something). The movie itself is okay, it's kind of difficult to understand with all the accents, but the music is the best part. It's all acoustic stuff, nice and simple and pretty raw, and I listen to it when I'm in the mood for that kind of thing. Usually I'm in the mood for Miley Cyrus, though, so there's your clue.

(Please don't tell anyone that I listen to Miley, though. As a teacher I have a reputation to uphold. We wouldn't want people spreading gossip about how Mr. Simpson likes teenage girls… the obvious correspondence with you aside though, of course.)

I'm surprised you figured out my true identity so easily! But I guess that answers your question about who my favorite teacher is. The obvious, of course. …Are you disappointed, though? Maybe we could work something out, if you're up for it…

(Okay, I lied. Three paragraphs.)

Anyway, all bullshit aside, I'm relieved that you're so cool with this whole thing. Not only that, but unless I'm horribly mistaken you're actually being quite _friendly_ with me! …It's nice. I like it, maybe we could actually hang out sometime. I could go for some prep-bashing, it _is_ my scene. You know, in moderation. Too much of it and I'll become quite the bitter old cynic.

I'm also pleasantly surprised by your outlook on the whole "label free" thing. You totally get it, and that's major. People are always in a rush to categorize things, everyone always swoops in and asks so many questions. Can't we just leave it be? I swear, everyone's obsessed. It's crazy. But you get it, you're a kindred. See, I knew I was right about you. You're totally cool.

By the way, you looked extra good today when I passed you. Is it just me or are you putting a little extra something into your walk now that you know you have an admirer? …Seriously, how creepy is that. But really. You look good. I'm sorry I've gotta be such a weirdo about it, but this whole anonymous thing is kind of fun. I'm sure you're frustrated, but I'm not ready. Fuck my shyness, you know?

Maybe someday,

_Anonymous_


	6. Chapter 6

_Anonymous,_

So right now I'm at home, lying in bed writing this with my headphones in. I'm blasting No Doubt; now _that_ is good stuff. I remember back when they were really popular, before Gwen Stefani went solo. I mean, I haven't listened to their music since then, pretty much, but shit. This stuff never gets old. I guess it's like that with most music you jammed to a few years ago, it's a blast from the past. I love that, you know? Going through your CDs and playlists and finding songs you haven't listened to in ages… wow. Don't Speak is playing right now, and it's almost like I can literally smell that strawberry body glitter that my 8th grade crush wore to that party in her parents' basement. This was a good slow dance song… Jesus Christ I'm totally getting nostalgic right now, aren't I? My bad. Sometimes I get a little distracted.

I guess that was my turn to talk about music, though it was scattered as fuck. I should do a proper job of it and actually tell you what I like, not just babble shit about music I liked back from middle school. But maybe now's not the time, since if I tell you how I listen to Public Enemy and t.A.t.U. and Green Day and Def Leppard and Daddy Yankee and so much more, you'll probably try to categorize and end up with an aneurysm. So I'll just go ahead and say that I like pretty much anything that involves love and/or sex and/or bad words. Or all those things at once.

So still speaking of music, I went and rented that movie Once earlier tonight. Yeah, I know. I've got no life and I'm lame. But since it was at your bequest that I check it out, I think I'm okay. Anyway, I thought it was good. Thanks for telling me what it's about beforehand, because I couldn't for the life of me understand what was going on in that movie. I wish they had subtitles in English. That was ridiculous. The music _was_ good, though. Shit, was it ever good. I usually try to never get all deep like this, so disregard what I say next, but… there was a lot of emotional weight to those songs. Wow. You don't get _that_ with Miley Cyrus, Mr. S., so what makes you like her so much? Well, actually, that's kind of an obvious one. It's her tight teenage ass, isn't it, and who can resist that? I don't blame you for digging the underage girls; if I were a middle-aged man I'd probably get a job at a high school and creep on the ladies too.

What if I told you your mom's a genius? Because the tactics she told you to use are working like a charm. It pains me to admit it, but it's true. I'd hardly noticed the way you were going on and on about my sexy strut was working magic on me, but now I'm hooked. It's so powerful, you probably don't even need the low cut tops. (Oh, who am I kidding. Yes you do, you really do. Hint hint.)

But seeing as I've never met my dad, and I've lived my life without a father figure to teach me how to manipulate women, my enraptured listening is the real deal. I'm telling you this in confidence, don't use my attentiveness against me. Because it may just be my downfall.

So yeah, label-free and whatnot. I think we've both established how cool it is. And I think we've both established we fit in that category (the absence of a label IS a label in itself! What a paradox.). In other words we're both pretty bitchin' human beings. Fist bump, bro.

You know you're not being fair when you let me know that you watch me and see me around. It's crazy, knowing you're around when I don't even know who you are. I don't even know what I'm looking for; a blonde? A brunette? Short, tall, emo, pretty? A fat chick reading Harry Potter for the twelfth time? Maybe I should just keep my eyes peeled for a low cut top.

Later,

Alex 


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:** I didn't ditch this story! I swear to god! And I'll try to finish it in a week, but no promises... _  
_So if you didn't know who Anonymous was before, here's some more clues for you. _  
_And to justin b. back from the dead... I have a feeling that your name is a justin bieber reference, which greatly intrigues me. You have greatly piqued my curiosity. :O_

* * *

_Alex,_

You really have your heart set on a low cut top, don't you? Well, at least now I know what you're _hoping_ for, with me. Yeah, I know you may have spit some pretty convincing anti-Spirit Squad sentiment, but don't lie to me. Deep down in your little heart, you're praying for some sexy, slutty cheerleader. You're praying that I'm… Paige Michalchuk! Well, how can I blame you? I _am_ pretty hot. Don't think I haven't noticed you checking me out, fantasizing about me jumping off the straight bus in some steamy after-practice locker room scene.

…Too much? Sorry, I shouldn't joke about things like that. Sometimes you think you're being funny, and then you cross a line and insinuate that someone checks out Paige Michalchuk. It's unforgivable. If I were you, I'd burn this notebook now. So sorry.

Anyway, I guess I can forgive you for failing to just give me a simple list of favorite bands (Jesus, how hard is that?). Your monologue about 8th grade romance throwback tunes sort of made up for it in its cuteness. OH, COOL. First I check you out, go on about your walk, now I'm calling you cute. Please shoot me. Oh wait, no, you don't know who I am. Just go ahead and burn the notebook, then. Really, this is getting too embarrassing.

Besides the fact that you keep calling out my Miley obsession. Can't we just let that go? I mean, sure, it's kind of weird for a middle-aged man to be so in love with a teen pop sensation, but don't even try to tell me I'm the only one. What about Perino? And definitely Kwan. Kwan for sure, I know that one for a fact. She's the one that lent me the soundtrack to Hannah Montana season two. So, I mean, it's pretty common. We don't need to keep rehashing it.

Besides, it just reminds me that my obsession for teenage girls is just a _bit_ taboo. And that makes me wary to keep writing you.

You know, hopefully I'm not just beating a dead horse with a stick here, clinging to this joke of me being Simpson. Either you think it's terribly lame or you actually think I _am_ him. Neither are good. I guess I should just stop now. And, just for the record, I'M NOT SIMPSON.

So who am I, really? Not ready to tell you yet, but I guess I'll throw you a bone and give you some hints as to appearance. I have brown eyes, I'm average height, and I'm a size four. Oh, and I've read Harry Potter thirteen times. Does that help you visualize a bit better?

So, low cut tops aside (how many times have we used the phrase "low cut top"?), my wiles _are_ working on you? All my talk about nothing else but you and the occasional Miley Cyrus is really working? Wow, I should alert my mom. She'll be thrilled that the torch of sluttiness has been successfully passed. And really, on a serious note, about your dad; if it makes you feel better, my dad hasn't been around much either (though I don't understand how that's supposed to make you feel better, whoever thought up the practice of commiserating to cheer someone up was kind of slow). With or without a father figure to teach you how to treat a lady right, you're doing a pretty good job. You must just be a natural.

OH GOD PLEASE DON'T LET ME END ON A SERIOUS AND/OR SINCERE NOTE.

Did I tell you about that time I was gonna meet up with Paige Michalchuk? Yeah, she told me to meet her at the corner of Walk and Don't Walk.

Yeah, I swear I didn't just Google blonde jokes.

_Anonymous_


End file.
